Personal Narrative

Engl 111X – LeFlore
28 Sept 2011

Descriptive Essay

There are moments during the day when there is just too much noise. White noise hisses from the television in the corner. The high pitch buzz of rock music blares from earbuds implanted into the ears of someone nearby. Even the insistent clickity-clack of fingers across a computer keyboard seem to add to the flurry of traffic already flushed into my mind, via my overwhelmed ears. For me, there is one moment in my day that quiet is treasured. When I can no longer take it, I escape to a brick and mortar bookstore and treat myself to a hardback book.
When I walk in, I am always taken aback by the towering displays of tomes; the precariously perched novels appearing like high divers
The crisp, jacket edges fall like a neatly pleated skirt around a strong sturdy backing. Embossed letters softly raise themselves to my eyes as if to say, ‘hello’, and bid me to take them home. I spy uniformed ivory pages sandwiched between the black binding, small gaps in the spacing attempt to cry out with a silent, ‘open at me first’. My mind reels at what might be uncovered once I take it home, do I dare? The hardback emits such a yearning to me, that I cannot stop a gently quivering hand from reaching out and lifting it off the
We pulse between the gas and brake pedals, like the jerky motion of a springy horse at a public playground. The constant rocking forward and back has started to slowly lull me to sleep, so I turn up the air, unexpectedly puffing the bag around my reward. Immediately, the vents push the scent of new paper into my face, I breathe deeply. The lingering spice of aged leather and printer ink reminds me of long hours curled up in the quiet, delighting in an author’s heady language. I slowly exhale my valued lungful of air, when I notice I am within reach of my home. My heart leaps at the memory of my hushed home; its tranquility will only add to the soothing moments I plan on spending with Mr. Cline, an escape from the hustle of